


kiss me (like you want to be loved)

by fragileanimals



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: F/M, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 17:31:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9775505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragileanimals/pseuds/fragileanimals
Summary: Jyn settles back on her heels, and doesn’t look back over her shoulder as she walks toward the ship.If she had, she’d have seen Cassian staring after her in something like bewilderment, his hand drifting up to the place where her lips had been.(Or, five times Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor kissed.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my bean leofjtz for beta-ing!

**one.**

She kisses him without thinking.

They’re in the middle of the bustling hangar, in front of everyone and the Force, and they’re all surely headed off to their deaths, but still he picks this moment to say, “Welcome home.”

He leans in as he says it, his face tilted down to see into her face. It stops her, dead in her tracks.

Then, on sheer impulse, she rises to her tiptoes to press her lips to his cheek. It’s brief, nothing more than a flicker, but she feels him go very still. His cheek is rough, warmer than she’d expected. A muffled whistle comes from the group of soldiers behind them, and for some reason it makes her feel like smiling.

She settles back on her heels, doesn’t look back over her shoulder as she walks toward the ship.

If she had, she’d have seen him staring after her in something like bewilderment, his hand drifting up to the place where her lips had been. 

 

**two.**

In the lift, Cassian's not sure which of them initiates it.

As they make their slow descent toward unavoidable destruction, his heart beats slow and steady. He’s not thinking about the beach; all he can see is Jyn’s wide eyes in the semi-darkness, stripes of sunlight passing over her face as she reflects his own weariness back at him, and he’s never been particularly Force-sensitive, but right now he begs every deity he’s ever heard of that someone up in the vastness of space had been listening after all, someone to make their sacrifice worthwhile.

Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. He could live with his own death being in vain -- so much of his life has been so, anyway -- but never Jyn’s. She’s too bright a star to go out without meaning.

He doesn’t need them to remember their names, he thinks, as she looks at him with that strange expression, something like melancholy pride. He only needs them to remember what they did.

Increasingly, he’s growing too blurry with pain and fatigue to process the individual moments as they pass-- he simply knows one moment he’s leaning hard against the smooth metal wall, his head heavy, and the next, her arms are around his neck.

He wants nothing more in this small and broken moment than to wrap his arms around her waist, to pull her into him, but he lacks the strength. He hopes she understands. 

When their lips finally meet after what feels like millennia of want, he directs every ounce of energy in his failing body into it, even as his broken ribs protest. She’s worth that pain, and more. He only wishes he had more time to offer it to her completely.

Their mouth stay closed, chapped, soft. Eyes half-open, they’re unwilling to surrender to complete darkness just yet. It’s not a proper first kiss, but it is a fitting last one. 

There’s been so much violence in his life, he thinks, and in hers, too. If there’s anything that they could possibly deserve, it’s a moment of peace.

But, in the end, it’s only that -- a moment. When it finally rattles to the ground, its doors creaking open with a slow agony Cassian feels in his bones, they separate. Not completely, though, as he still must lean on her to stay upright. The warmth of her body is the only thing that gives him the will to keep moving.

When they take their first step together onto the sand, with the burning sun before them, Jyn turns her head and smiles at him with blood at the corner of her mouth, and it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

Their steps toward the sea are a painfully slow march, now, but it doesn’t matter. Death will take them regardless of where they stand. Cassian just wants to see the horizon one last time, before that too is taken from them.

Later, at the water’s edge, she puts her arms around him for the last time. The light is bright in his eyes, and the ocean sprays tears onto their cheeks as they cling to each other, and she doesn’t look back. But he does.

 

**three.**

She hovers outside his room in the medical bay for a good five minutes before she scrapes up the courage to go in. And only then, because a medical droid informs her, in no uncertain terms, if she continues to linger in the hall, she will be removed.

So that's how she ends up hustled inside Cassian’s partitioned room, a scowl on her face.

It's been several days since Scarif, and she still hasn't been to see him. She tells herself it’s because she’s only recently been released from the medical bay herself-- and on crutches, at that. Deep down, however, she knows that’s not it. Not completely, anyway.

She can’t imagine why. When she’d first woken up, she’d been desperate to see him. She’d been feral-- the healers had needed probably twice the normal dose of muscle relaxant to keep her down.

But as the hours had turned into days, the knot in her stomach had grown. Each time she’d started to pull herself, bruises and all, to her feet, something had stopped her. She’d make it a little further each time, halfway down the hall, then three-quarters, then to the curtained divider marking his room. And, each time she’d turned back, it had felt like cowardice.

Jyn Erso is many things, but she is not, and has never been, a coward.

So, now she’s here. By accident or by design, seeing him is finally unavoidable, unless she ducks right back out.

Too late for that. Without her permission, her eyes go to his face, as if pulled irresistibly. Her gaze skates over him hungrily, taking him in for the first time in days, for the first time since they’d taken him away from her back at the base, bleeding heavily, his head in her lap. She devours the sight of him whole.

He looks bad, as bad as she’s ever seen him. But that tends to be the case for people in a medically-induced coma-- or so she’s heard. She’s never actually known anyone to come out of a coma once they’re in it. Maybe that’s just her luck, she thinks, leaning heavily on her left crutch.

She’s reluctant to get closer, never having been comfortable in medical settings. She never knows what to say around the sick and dying; she’s more of a _rub some dirt in it_ kind of girl. 

Her body ends up making the decision for her. Her damaged leg begins to stiffen, and she knows it’s only matter of time before it gives out entirely on her; her rehabilitation has quite a ways to go.

The room is bare of anything but his bed and the medical equipment; there's nowhere to sit, so she slowly eases herself onto the edge of his bed, careful to disturb him as little as possible. His face doesn’t change as the thin cot shifts, but part of her wishes it would. As he is now, he’s too still, his eyes shut too tightly to be resting peacefully. His stubble is several days too long; it’s starting to become a full beard over his pale face. His middle is bandaged, presumably to keep his broken ribs together and to allow the blaster wound in his side to knit itself back together. Just the thought of him lying so still on the metal grate of the data vault makes a patch in her chest ache.

She stares at his hand on the blanket beside her, upturned and empty. It feels like yesterday that they stood on the beach, arms wrapped around each other. It feels like a lifetime ago.

For a few moment, her hand hovers above his. Then, allowing herself a brief moment of weakness, she lowers it to rest on top of his. A soft breath leaves her in a rush; despite his pallor, his rough palm is reassuringly warm.

Slightly heartened, Jyn reaches her free hand up to smooth the hair off his forehead, runs a thumb across his brow. Something foreign swells up in her at this practice at tenderness, and a memory runs before her eyes, her mother cradling her father's face in her hands, pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth. Her lungs feels as though they’ve been punctured.

Without permission, her head bows as if in prayer, coming to rest on their clasped hands. She closes her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart monitor.

Unbidden, Chirrut’s words come to her mind. _The Force is with me, and I am one with the Force._

The tightness in her chest eases minutely. Surely, she thinks, if the Force exists, it wouldn't have brought herself and Cassian this far, allow them to survive so much, only to tear them apart now. Surely, she reasons, if there is a larger purpose to all of this, it can’t be complete without him.

Or, maybe, a smaller voice whispers, that's simply what you want to believe.

She shakes her head, scrubbing at her tired eyes-- even with all her time in the medical bay, she hasn't slept more than a few fitful hours since before Scarif. She can't. It's too terrible to close her eyes and dream the world consumed by a burning sun, only to wake to a world where the only person she wants to talk to lies dormant. 

She’s glad they made it back at all, of course. But she’ll be gladder when Cassian wakes and she can tell him of it, see his dark eyes flash.

Eventually, a mechanical voice at her shoulder. “Visiting hours for this patient are over,” it says, dully. “Please vacate the premises.” 

Jyn doesn’t respond immediately. Perhaps, if she ignores it, it’ll simply disappear. 

No such luck. A moment later, “Sergeant Erso--”

“I’m leaving,” Jyn snaps, without taking her eyes from Cassian’s face. “Just give me a moment.”

The droid makes a noncommittal noise. She turns around and stares at it with all the sheer irritation her bruised body can muster. The droid stares back.

“One more minute,” it finally warns, turning jerkily on its mechanical heel and marching back the way it came. 

She waits for the droid’s footsteps to grow faint. She studies the tired lines at Cassian’s eyes, trying to find something to say to him-- her heart thrums as she tries to think of something that encompasses the exact magnitude of the loss they have suffered and yet won’t be simple platitude if he can, in fact, hear her.

But Jyn’s never been terribly good with words.

So, trying for the first time at a tenderness she’s never felt before and can’t possibly put into words, she simply rests a hand on the side of his face and leans in to press her mouth to his.

It's a brief kiss, no more than a brush of lips. She doesn't close her eyes, it's not that kind. It's a kiss from one friend to another; it's a kiss that says, come back.

She pulls back, not daring to hope it'll be like in the stories her mother used to tell her, about love conquering all, bringing people back from the dead. Even so-- she waits a few more precious moments, unable to tear her eyes away. 

Then,  
“Sergeant Erso?”

The droid again. 

She closes her eyes, opens them again, and turns around. “I'm on my way out,” she says, through gritted teeth. Heaving herself to her feet, she ignores the droid’s proffered hand, limping out of the curtained room on her own strength.

She doesn’t look back. If she had, she might have seen it when Cassian’s eyes shifted ever so slightly, under their lids. She might have seen the smallest twitch in his littlest finger. She might have seen something a little like hope.

 

**four.**

Cassian’s reading over his notes on his datapad when Jyn storms into the conference room, looking like she's ready to spit fire.

At her entrance, a hush falls over the handful of rebels in the room with him. Quicker than he can protest, they disperse, heading out into the hall. He stifles a sigh, but can’t blame them-- at this point, almost everyone on base is acquainted with the particularly volcanic look Jyn wears when she’s about to erupt.

He'd known this was inevitable, but that doesn't mean he's prepared or particularly enthused. Gently, he lays the datapad on the table. 

“Jyn--”

“When were you going to tell me?” she interrupts. She crowds him, gets right up in his face, so close that he nearly goes cross-eyed as he tries to look at her, their noses just a few inches apart.

“Were you just going to leave without saying goodbye?” A frown makes sharp lines of her face.

Cassian hesitates. Up until moments ago, that essentially had been the plan. He had hoped to be there and back before Jyn was any the wiser -- not because she didn't deserve to know, but out of the desire to keep her from worrying. 

He sees now that this had been a colossal mistake.

Outwardly, he hedges. “I--”

“We’re supposed to be _partners_ ,” Jyn says, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyes glinting angrily. There’s a trace of hurt there, too, and his throat is suddenly dry.

“We are,” he assures her. Suddenly, he aches to touch her, to console her. It's an impulse he curbs only with significant effort.

“Bullshit,” she spits. “Partners tell each other when they're about to go off-world.” Her eyes are too bright.

“I was going to tell you.” He winces as the lie falls short, and she makes a little sound of disgust in the back of her throat.

“Were you?” she asks. “Or were you just going to go without saying anything, and hope I didn't notice?”

Cassian realizes, suddenly and painfully, that he doesn't have any idea how to do this. The only real partner he’s ever had is K-2. He’s never really had to give much thought to his interactions with the droid, much less remember to inform Kay about his whereabouts.The droid is always simply… with him. 

The truth is: it’s been a long time since Cassian’s had anyone to come home to, and he’s out of practice.

A series of expressions crosses her face, too quick to track. Without his notice, his hand has come up to rest on her forearm.

In return, she reaches up to grab his collar. “What if,” she grits out, “something happens to you?”

This close, he can see her lips tremble, even as she clamps her mouth closed. If he didn’t know better, he’d think her anger is a front for something else-- something vulnerable, something very uncharacteristic indeed.

His brow furrows. “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he says, trying now to placate her. “It’s just a recon mission. I probably won’t even leave the ship.”

She snorts. “Nothing’s ever _just_ anything around here, and you know it,” she says, darkly. She’s still holding onto his shirt, staring over his left shoulder.

He shrugs, and her hand brushes his throat. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he says, softly.

He looks at her, then, and she looks at him. This is when he notices that the corners of her wide green eyes are red, highlighting the paleness of her skin.

Before he can process what he's doing, his hand’s come up to cradle the back of her skull, his fingers knotting in her soft hair like they have so often itched to. In the next instant, their lips collide, and it’s like striking a match, sudden and irreversible.

Her wet, hot mouth is on his; her tongue flicks against his, testing. He responds in kind, tightening his grip on her. Retaliatory, she bites down on his lower lip, making his chest seize.

This is the first kiss they’ve shared where neither of them have been crippled by pain, or half-dead. It’s ungentle, it’s everything he thought it would be. It’s over too soon.

When he pulls back, it’s as though all the fight has been drained out of her. She goes boneless, leaning hard into him, forcing him to take a half-step back to keep them both upright.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he says, finally, even though he’s in no position to be making promises, and they both know it. He’s surprised when she doesn’t fight him on it-- but perhaps they all need something to believe in, now and then.

“Just come back,” she says, finally, into his shoulder. Her voice is muffled by the material of his jacket.

Cassian closes his eyes, allowing himself the luxury of leaning his cheek against her hair. “I will.”

She lets out a soft sigh, which he feels more than hears. When she steps back, letting her go is quite possibly the most difficult thing he’s ever done. She won’t look at him, but now the tip of her nose is red, too. He catalogues it, tracks her every feature, wanting more than anything to walk directly to Mon Mothma’s office and tell her he’s changed his mind, his wounds still pain him, he’s not ready to go back into the field. 

But there are people depending on him. So he doesn’t.

When Jyn leaves him, she doesn’t look back.

 

**five.**

The door is barely closed behind them before he has her pressed up against it, his hands on her wrists, pinning them beside her head. He can feel her sharp teeth at his throat as she grins against him, wolf-like, her skin practically incandescent in the dark.

Neither of them are as tipsy as they’d like to believe, certainly not from the few swallows of fermented bantha milk they shared tonight, the toast to a mission well-performed. Even so, Jyn is sure she never feels quite so drunk as she does when she’s flush against him like this, their hips agonizingly shifting together and apart to some invisible beat. She likes him best like this: cheeks flushed, eyes glinting, body both relaxed and tensed all at once.

For the third time in as many minutes, she thinks, dizzily, that they had been lucky to get away when they did. She doesn’t know how much longer she could have kept her hands off him-- he’s looking particularly handsome tonight, his hair askew and beard slightly ragged.

And, of course, there’s the fact that he made it back at all.

She tilts her chin up, nudges his jaw with hers so that he brings his mouth to hers once more. When their tongues meet, she shivers, and the friction it creates makes them both groan.

After several long moments, he manages to pull back enough to say, “Bed?”

“Yeah,” she replies, breathless.

He releases her wrists, and she immediately winds them into his shirt as she backs him into the edge of the narrow mattress. Part of him looks like he wants to maneuver them so that he hovers over her, but she just smiles wider, nudging him onto his back. He falls onto the cot without much protest, drags her clumsily up the bed with him.

He leans up on his elbows as she straddles his waist, working at her throat as she slips his overlarge jacket from her shoulders, leaving it in a lopsided pile on the floor.

He makes quick work of her shirt and breast band; she goes for his belt and pants with renewed vigor, having removed his own shirt nearly before they’d even been inside. Then, finally, finally they’re free of any pesky separatory clothing, and she’s able to take him into her hand. He sighs, long and slow, arching against her.

She pauses, then, looking at him. Her thighs are shaking from the effort of holding still -- she can feel him twitch beneath her -- but a nearly-forgotten tender part of her wants to remember this, how he looks right in this moment, on the bed, his hair tousled and eyes half-closed. His body warm and solid and alive under hers. The days of a soldier are always numbered, and neither of them know how many nights like these they have left before their time runs out.

“What is it?” Cassian breathes, his hands scrabbling for purchase at her thighs.

“Nothing,” she says, after a moment, and lowers herself onto him.

Cassian lets out a choked noise. “Jyn--” He breaks off.

She tips her head back, feeling him inside her for the first time. She shifts a little, adjusting, breathing through the stretch. She's been with others, but not for some time.

He doesn't beg any movement of her, but she can feel him trembling beneath her, his body eager to begin. Already, they're both breathing hard, like they're running; her body shifts slightly with each of his breaths, making her bite her lip.

And then she moves.

Cassian can hardly keep his eyes from rolling back in his head. She's glorious above him, her own head tilted back, strong thighs gripping his sides so tightly it leaves him aching. Her hair’s still half in its bun, loose strands framing her face. Her neck is long and thin, her breasts are perfect, just a little more than a handful; her abdomen is a glory where it touches his waist, he watches transfixed as the lean muscles move beneath her skin. He touches her everywhere he can reach and thrums with the need to touch her everywhere else.

She draws in a sharp breath when his fingers find a particularly twisted scar just below her ribcage. Seventeen, she’d ended up on the wrong end of a bounty-hunter’s knife, but that’s what she gets for interfering with business, she supposes.

His brow furrows, and she slows the pace briefly. “Does it hurt?” he asks, softly, his hand just barely resting on the shiny skin. 

“No.” Jyn’s eyes flicker. “It's just... sensitive.”

Cassian can work with sensitive.

She curls her body down to kiss his mouth, and they both groan at the shift in angle. He opens his mouth, as though he could swallow the sounds she makes and keep them in his chest.

And, force, he thinks, she’s it for him. He hadn’t known it, but he’d been done for the moment General Draven had handed him her file.

After, they lie tangled up, and let the sweat dry salty on their skin. Her head is propped up awkwardly against his shoulder, and neither of them are particularly comfortable on the narrow cot, but they’re infinitely content.

His hand follows the smooth line of her spine, coming up to cradle her bare shoulder. She leans into the touch, into his warm body, practically humming. He shifts again, pulling her mouth to his.

“That was nice,” he says, against her lips.

She makes a noise of agreement, shivering when his rough beard grazes her cheek. It's different now, slower. Languid, open-mouthed kisses that send a little flutter of heat through her chest. Once, this messy tenderness would have set off every loud and blaring alarm in her body; she would’ve been out the door before he’d been dressed. 

But something about this is different. There are still alarms. There will always be alarms-- but with him, they’re muted. Ghostly versions of themselves calling across space and time to her from a previous life, one where she had been angry and alone and scared.

“I’m going to hit the ‘fresher,” Jyn says, eventually, swinging a leg out of bed. She stretches her toes to the cold concrete floor. “Care to join?” 

Cassian grins. She’s clearly trying for nonchalance, but the tilt of her chin is impossibly suggestive, and she misses it by a long shot. He’ll never have a moment’s rest again, with her around. 

“Give a man a standard minute to collect myself, will you?” he says, but he pulls himself into a seated position against the wall anyway.

In truth, he’s content just to watch as Jyn laughs, high and carefree, twisting the rest of her hair free of its loose bun. For once, her eyes are bright not with tears or rage, but with something close happiness-- maybe even joy. He’s never seen her like this, completely unguarded, standing there in her bare feet and his long white shirt.

She’s the rebellion, he thinks, awed. She’s everything.

And this time, the first time, just before she reaches the door, she looks back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, commentary and constructive criticism are very much appreciated, if you can spare the time. ♥


End file.
